


Look who's digging their own grave

by LibraryMage



Series: Mistborn AU 2: The Second One [1]
Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryMage/pseuds/LibraryMage
Summary: Ezra's father gives him a new assignment: kill the head of one of the Great Houses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stardustgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/gifts).



> Alright, time for some explanation. On a Rebels Discord server, the author of the original Rebels Mistborn AU made a joke about "Mistborn AU where Maul raises him (Ezra) instead of the Pryces." Being the absolute gremlin that I am, I took that concept and ran with it, and here we are with another Mistborn AU where Maul is Ezra's dad. It's terrible, but really what else do you guys expect from me at this point?
> 
> general warning on this fic for child abuse and torture
> 
> Ezra is currently 13.

Ezra paced across the end of the corridor, wringing his hands nervously as he steeled himself. Whenever his father summoned him, he found himself hesitating, hovering down the hallway as he tried to work up the nerve to walk through the door. He wasn’t afraid of his father. He _wasn’t_. But whenever he was in the man’s presence, he felt like he was shrinking out of existence under his father’s critical eye.

Finally deciding that he couldn't afford to stall any longer, he took a long, shuddering breath before making his way down the corridor. He paused outside the door, straightening his back before he quietly slipped into his father’s study. The man was waiting for him, his back to the door as he stared down into the fire.

“You wanted to see me?” Ezra said as the door closed behind him.

His father turned to face him and Ezra ducked his head to avoid looking at the expression on his father’s face. That cold, calculating look was so familiar to Ezra, and it always made him feel like he was being examined and evaluated; and half the time, he was.

“I have a task for you,” his father said.

“I’m at your disposal, sir,” Ezra said, keeping his head bowed.

“You know of Lord Thrawn,” his father said. Ezra nodded quickly.

“You are going to kill him.”

A hard knot formed in Ezra’s stomach, but still he slowly nodded, knowing he wouldn’t refuse, even if he could.

“Y—yes, Father,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.

“Ezra,” his father said, his voice suddenly stern. “You cannot hesitate. Doing so can get you killed.”

“I—I know,” Ezra said. “I know, I’m just…”

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes,” Ezra mumbled. Admitting it caused a hard knot of shame to tighten in his throat. He knew he shouldn’t be. He’d killed before. He’d done it without hesitation whenever his father ordered him to, starting when he was only nine years old. But this was Thrawn. Ezra had never met him, but his father had made sure he knew enough about the leaders of all the Great Houses in Luthadel to properly assess their respective threat levels. Even if he hadn’t, Ezra knew Thrawn’s reputation. He was always one step ahead of whoever tried to best him. He was ruthless and could destroy an enemy before they knew what hit them.

“You have trained for this your whole life,” his father said, placing a hand on Ezra’s shoulder and squeezing tightly, drawing a small smile out of Ezra. “I have every confidence in you.”

“Thank you, Father,” Ezra said. His father’s words did nothing to curb his fear, but hearing them still caused a small spark of warmth to burst to life in his chest. Praise from his father had always been rare, and he clung to every scrap that he got.

“Ezra,” his father said, withdrawing his comforting touch abruptly. “Do not disappoint me.”

“I won't,” Ezra said. “I promise.”

* * *

Ezra reached under his bed, pulling out the small wooden box he kept hidden there. He took a moment to glance back over his shoulder at the closed door. He knew there was no one else there, and there was no way his father could see what he was doing, but his face still burned with embarrassment as he fiddled with the latch on the box. Turning his gaze back to it, he opened it and carefully lifted out the small bundle of cloth inside it. He clutched it tightly for a moment, feeling as though it was filling him with strength.

It was his first mistcloak. His father had given it to him five years ago, before his first assignment. He’d long since outgrown it, but he’d kept it hidden in the box under his bed. It felt almost childish to admit it, even to himself, but holding it made him feel more confident. It was a reminder of the first time his father had trusted him with a mission, with _real_ responsibility. He’d only been eight years old and he had helped his father nearly bring down one of the Great Houses. If he could do that at such a young age, he could do this now.

He placed the mistcloak back in its box and shoved it beneath his bed where no one would find it. His father didn’t know he’d kept it. Ezra knew his father wouldn’t approve of him being so sentimental, and so Ezra intended to keep it hidden.

As Ezra stood up and glanced out the window, he saw that the sun was beginning to set. He retrieved his newer mistcloak and settled it around his shoulders, placing his glass daggers and vials of metal on his belt.

It was time to do his duty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: unnamed character death

The only sound that would have given away Ezra’s presence if anyone were around to notice was the soft _plink_ of a coin against stone. Ezra flared his pewter, jumping as high as he could before Pushing off of the coin. He went flying into the air, the cold winter wind whipping at his face. He reached out, grabbing hold of the eave as he sailed toward the roof. Using his hand as a fulcrum, he flipped over the edge and landed in a crouch on the rooftop.

As he Pulled on the coin below him, he heard the sound of footsteps coming his way. Burning tin, he caught sight of two guards rapidly approaching. As the coin flew toward his hand, he stopped burning iron and began burning steel, Pushing the coin toward the guards. With his tin-enhanced senses, he could easily hear the _crack_ as the coin struck one of the guards in the head. At the speed it was moving, with the strength of Ezra’s Steelpush behind it, it would have broken the man’s skull.

The other guard let out a yelp of surprise as his comrade collapsed. Ezra burned iron again, Pulling at the metal armor of the second guard’s chest. He yanked the man toward him, drawing one of his glass daggers.

He smiled as the guard flew closer to him. With his vision sharpened by tin, he could see that the man wasn’t even wearing a gorget. This would be too easy. As the guard began to shoot past him, Ezra abruptly stopped burning iron and grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it behind his back. With one swift motion, he cut the man’s throat, letting him collapse onto the rooftop as he bled out.

Not seeing or hearing any more guards nearby, Ezra ran across the rooftop, heading in the opposite direction than where the guards had come from. There would likely be a door they’d used to access the roof, but there would probably be more guards on the other side of it, making it the last place he wanted to be. Reaching the other side of the roof, he stopped, peering over the edge just far enough to see the window below him.

Burning pewter, Ezra grabbed onto the edge of the roof and lowered himself down toward the window. Once he was close enough, he let go and let himself drop until he could grab hold of the window ledge and pull himself up. The window was narrow, but Ezra was small enough to crawl through it, landing lightly on the floor inside. He began burning tin again and quietly made his way down the corridor. The hard part was going to be finding Thrawn in this maze of a keep.

He nearly made it to a bend in the corridor when he heard footsteps coming toward him. He double back, rushing down the corridor the way he’d come. If he could just make it around the next corner, he could wait there and ambush whoever was approaching. Before he could reach the corner, however, he heard a harsh voice call out to him.

“Stop!”

Ezra turned around, already reaching into the pouch full of coins on his belt, pulling a small handful out and tossing them into the air, burning steel and Pushing them in the direction of whoever had spoken. As the coins shot through the air, he saw them. A guard in regular metal armor and a hazekiller, likely patrolling the area together. The hazekiller raised his wooden shield, blocking most of the coins. As the hazekiller rushed him, Ezra burned iron, Pulling the guard with his outer shell of metal armor forward, slamming him into the hazekiller’s back and sending them both toppling to the floor.

He turned and ran, bolting down the corridor, realizing too late that he was panting, his feet pounding against the floor, making far too much noise to avoid drawing attention to himself. Someone else was going to notice him.

Sure enough, he heard a voice ahead of him, a guard ordering groups of other guards and hazekillers to spread out and search the keep. Someone must have found the bodies of the guards he’d killed on the roof. Cursing quietly, Ezra turned a random corner, only to find himself facing two guards and three hazekillers coming down the corridor toward him.

Spotting him, the five men charged down the corridor. Ezra burned steel, Pushing the guards back down the corridor, then drew one of his daggers, standing his ground and flaring the last of his pewter as the hazekillers closed in on him. He dropped, rolling to the side as one of the hazekillers struck at him with his dueling cane. He avoided the blow, only to slam right into another hazekiller. The man brought his heel down on Ezra’s hand and Ezra cried out as the bones strained, thankfully not cracking. Ezra gripped his dagger tightly in his other hand and brought it up, slashing across the man’s leg. He let out a growl of anger and grabbed Ezra by the collar of his shirt, hauling him off the floor and shoving him forward toward one of his comrades. The other hazekiller slammed his shield against Ezra. As Ezra stumbled, pain burst across the back of his head as he was struck by a dueling cane. He collapsed to the floor, his vision blurring as the hazekillers and guards surrounded him.

As he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, someone seized his arms, wrenching them behind his back. He gasped in pain and struggled, trying to flare pewter only to realize that he had none left.

“Alert Lord Thrawn,” the person holding onto Ezra said. A hand gripped Ezra’s hair, wrenching his head back painfully. “I’ll deal with him.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: torture of a child; restraint; threat of death; threat of maiming

Ezra huddled in a corner of the cell, shivering. They’d taken his clothes when they’d thrown him in here, and it was kriffing _freezing_. He’d been locked up in here for hours now, and he couldn’t find a way out. There was no metal on the door that he could Push or Pull, and no window he could climb out of. He’d used up his reserve of pewter, and the door was sturdy enough that he doubted he would have been able to break it down even if he had any left. The only useful thing he could do was burn tin so he could see his surroundings. Not that there was much to see. It was a completely bare room with stone walls and a heavy wooden door, with nothing else remarkable about it. His eyes remained locked onto that door, watching and listening for any sign that it was about to open. He didn’t know what he planned to do when it did open, but for now, there was nothing he could do but wait.

When the door finally swung open, Ezra glared up at the men who entered; two hazekillers and a pale-skinned man dressed in a way that clearly indicated that he was a noble. It had to be Lord Thrawn.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow at the sight of Ezra huddled in the corner.

“It took five of you to subdue a child?” he asked.

“I’m not a child,” Ezra hissed.

One of the hazekillers tried to stifle a snort of laughter at his words. Thrawn shot a disapproving glance at the man out of the corner of his eye.

Thrawn stepped forward, pulling a small glass vial from his pocket and removing the cork.

“Restrain him,” he said, his eyes never leaving Ezra.

Ezra pressed himself farther back into the corner as the hazekillers approached. They easily overpowered him, each of them grabbing one of his arms and dragging him from the corner, forcing him onto his knees in front of Thrawn. The man holding his right arm grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back as Thrawn approached.

Thrawn grabbed Ezra’s chin, forcing his mouth open. He quickly poured the contents of the vial into Ezra’s mouth. Ezra coughed as he instinctively swallowed, the liquid burning his throat as he did.

“What was that?” Ezra gasped.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at Ezra.

“Burn it,” he said, his voice cold.

“No,” Ezra said, his voice a defiant growl even as fear gripped his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. If what Thrawn had given him wasn’t an allomantic metal, trying to burn it could kill him.

Ezra cried out as Thrawn struck his face. As his head snapped to the side, the man grabbed his chin, gripping it tightly.

“I know what you are, Mistborn,” he said, his voice still so cold and calm, the volume not rising at all as he drew one of Ezra’s own glass daggers and held it beneath Ezra’s chin. “Now, burn it, or I will end this right now.”

Ezra reached for his store of metals and was surprised to find that he _could_ feel something new; some metal that he’d never sensed before. That had to be it. As he began to burn it, he could feel his other metals disappearing, slipping away into nothingness.

Ezra gasped and stopped burning the aluminum. But it was too late. All of his other metals were just _gone_.

“This will be easier for you if you answer my questions,” Thrawn said. “Who are you? What were you doing here? And who do you work for?”

Ezra wrenched his head back, pulling his face out of Thrawn’s grip and lunged forward, sinking his teeth into Thrawn’s hand. One of the hazekillers grabbed his hair once more, pulling him off of Thrawn as the man pulled his hand away and took a step back. A small, amused smile twitched across his face as he watched Ezra until he abruptly turned his gaze to the hazekillers and nodded.

They released Ezra, throwing him to the floor at their feet. As Ezra looked up, he saw them each settle their dueling canes into their hands.

The first blow landed on his upper back. Ezra cried out, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball as blows rained down on him. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as tears stung at them. Pain burst across his whole body as the hazekillers struck him over and over again with their dueling canes. When they finally stopped, one of the men grabbed Ezra’s arms and dragged him up onto his knees, forcing him to face Thrawn again.

Ezra tried to wrench himself out of the hazekiller’s grip, but the man just wrenched his arms back, sending spikes of pain shooting through his shoulders.

“Who sent you?” Thrawn asked.

Ezra spat on the floor at Thrawn’s feet before glaring up at him.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he said.

“You will,” Thrawn said. “It’s only a matter of how much pain you’re willing to endure before you give in.”

His eyes turned back to the hazekiller holding Ezra back.

“Soften him up,” he said. “Make sure he stays alive.”

As Thrawn turned and left the room, the hazekiller holding Ezra hauled him to his feet as the other stepped in front of him. The man drew his fist back, and Ezra barely had time to brace himself before the man punched him in the stomach.

As Ezra gasped for air, the hazekiller holding him threw him to the floor again. Ezra pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, trying to crawl away, only for a heavy blow to hit his back, knocking him down once more. As one of the men kicked him in the stomach, Ezra bit down on his tongue, tasting blood in his mouth. He stayed down this time, covering the back of his neck with his hands as the hazekillers continued to beat him. He’d endured plenty of pain in his lifetime. He could endure this. He wouldn’t turn on his father. He wouldn’t say a word.

* * *

Ezra gasped, his eyes flying open as something freezing cold slammed into him. As he looked around the room in confusion, he realized it was cold water that had been thrown on him.

He shrank back as he looked up to see a hazekiller standing over him, dropping the bucket the water had been in to the floor. Ezra’s heart hammered as the man approached and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. Ezra struggled weakly as he was dragged out of the room, but it was useless. The two days he’d spent locked up had left him too weak to resist.

The hazekiller dragged him across the corridor and through an open door. Ezra nearly sighed in relief at how warm the room was, until he saw the reason why. His eyes widened at the sight of the fire that Thrawn was standing next to, and the iron rods stuck into the flames, their ends glowing red with heat.

The hazekiller shoved Ezra onto the floor, pinning him facedown with his arms twisted behind his back. Ezra lifted his head as Thrawn stepped into his field of vision, a quiet whimper escaping his throat as he caught sight of the burning iron rod that Thrawn held in his hand.

“You have one final chance to answer my questions,” Thrawn said.

Ezra just shook his head, his breath catching in his throat at the thought of what Thrawn was going to do to him now.

Thrawn stepped out of Ezra’s line of sight, his footsteps travelling around him until he was standing behind Ezra. Ezra fought against the hazekiller’s hold on his wrists, but the man only tightened his grip.

Pain seared across Ezra’s skin as Thrawn touched the end of the iron rod to the sole of his right foot. Ezra screamed, trying to throw the hazekiller off of him as Thrawn pressed the rod harder against his skin. As Thrawn pulled the rod away, Ezra rested his cheek against the cool floor, tears dripping onto the stone.

“I – I won't t—tell you anything,” he gasped, his voice breaking. He screamed again as Thrawn pressed the iron rod against his other foot, quickly pulling it away before pressing down again. Ezra bit down on his lower lip, trying not to scream as Thrawn pressed the rod against the soles of his feet again and again.

As Ezra’s vision began blurring from the pain, he heard Thrawn speak, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in his ears. The man holding him down dragged him up off the floor, shoving him into a small wooden chair near the wall. He pinned one of Ezra’s arms down to the arm of the chair and fastened a thick leather strap around his wrist before quickly doing the same to his other arm.

As Thrawn placed the iron rod back into the fire and removed another, Ezra tugged at his restraints, testing their strength. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t budge. As Thrawn approached, the hazekiller grabbed Ezra’s hair, holding his head still. Ezra’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as Thrawn drew closer, the rod held menacingly in his hand.

Ezra whimpered as Thrawn held the end of the rod just inches from his chest, letting it hover there for a moment, as if giving him one last chance to start talking. The moment quickly passed and Thrawn shoved the end of the rod against Ezra’s chest. Ezra screamed, thrashing against his restraints and instinctively kicking in front of him. He caught Thrawn’s shin with his right foot, but all it did was send pain shooting up his leg, radiating from his burns.

Thrawn pulled the rod away from Ezra’s chest, moving it upward toward his face. Ezra whimpered, trying to pull himself out of the hazekiller’s grip as he felt the heat on his skin.

“Whoever your master is, you owe him no loyalty,” Thrawn said. “He is leaving you here to rot.”

“No,” Ezra gasped. His father would never just abandon him here, and nothing Thrawn could say would make him believe that he would. “No. He isn’t. He won't.”

He cried out again as the rod touched his face, burning his left cheek along his jawline.

“I am willing to do much worse than this, boy,” Thrawn said. “Spare yourself some pain and tell me who you work for.”

Ezra gasped as Thrawn pulled the rod away from his face.

“I. Won’t. Talk,” Ezra growled, the tears in his eyes and the tremor in his voice undercutting any power his words might have had.

“Very well,” Thrawn said, glancing at the hazekiller who stood behind Ezra. “Hold him still.”

Thrawn raised the rod again, letting it hover less than an inch from Ezra’s left eye. Ezra gasped, going perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.

“N—no,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

“Tell me who sent you.”

“No,” Ezra said.

As the rod moved a fraction of an inch closer to his eye, Ezra screamed, trying to wrench himself backwards, away from Thrawn, but he couldn’t break out of the hazekiller’s grip.

“Stop!” he cried. “P—please!”

Thrawn kept the rod where it was, so close that Ezra couldn’t even focus his eyes on it. He whimpered as his gaze darted to Thrawn’s face. The man was watching him expectantly, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Maul,” Ezra said, his voice dropping back down to a whisper. “Lord Maul sent me to kill you.”

Thrawn took a step back, lowering the rod and setting it back into the fire. As the hazekiller released him, Ezra slumped over, gasping and sobbing as tears trailed down his face. Shame rose up in his throat like bile as he stared blankly down at the floor. He’d betrayed his father’s trust, and all it had taken to get him to do it was a little pain.

He yelped as Thrawn grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. Thrawn’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at Ezra as if he were examining him.

“So,” he said, “you’re the son I’ve heard so little about. Ezra, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ezra said, his voice breaking. There was no point in trying to lie. Thrawn already knew who he was.

“And you’re a Mistborn, too,” Thrawn said as he released his grip on Ezra, who let his chin drop back down toward his chest. “I’m surprised your father has managed to hide that for so long.”

Ezra pulled at his restraints again, more on instinct than out of any belief that he would actually be able to break free.

“Consider yourself lucky, boy,” Thrawn said. “I can make use of the Mistborn son of an obligator.”

Ezra only shook his head, unable to get himself to speak.

“You will report all of your father’s dealings to me,” Thrawn said. “As well as any information you can gather about other noble houses.”

“What makes you think I would ever work for you?” Ezra growled, finally lifting his head to glare up at Thrawn. He just wanted these damn restraints off so he could wrap his hands around the man’s throat and choke the life from him. First Thrawn tortured him, and then he thought Ezra would just turn on his father and work for _him_?

“Agreeing to my terms is the only way you will leave this keep alive,” Thrawn said. He nodded to the hazekiller who still stood behind Ezra. At Thrawn’s signal, the man grabbed Ezra’s hair again, wrenching his head back and holding a glass dagger to his throat. Ezra whimpered as the edge pressed into his skin, small beads of blood welling up around it and trickling down his neck.

“If you refuse, you will die,” Thrawn said. “Now, give me your answer.”

Ezra stayed perfectly still, not daring to struggle. The blade dug deeper into his skin, one small, quick movement away from ending his life. If he died here, would his father even know what happened to him? Would Thrawn just hide all evidence of him being here, or would he turn Ezra’s father in for his role in this? If he did, Ezra knew his father could be executed for this, and he couldn’t let it happen. He _wouldn’t_.

“I’ll do it,” Ezra said, his voice shaking. “I—I’ll do whatever you say.”

The hazekiller drew the blade away from Ezra’s throat and Ezra let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Know this,” Thrawn said, gripping Ezra’s chin once more and forcing him to look up at him. “If you tell your father about our deal, if you pass me false information, if you betray me in _any way_ , I will make you and your father both pay for it. Understood?”

“Y—yes,” Ezra said.

Thrawn released him, a small smile twitching across his face. Ezra had to resist the urge to glare defiantly at him again. He had to let Thrawn think he’d won.

“You will be released after sunset,” Thrawn said. “I don’t want you attracting attention on the way home, after all.”

As Thrawn turned and left the room, the hazekiller stepped forward, undoing the straps that bound Ezra to the chair and pulling him to his feet. Ezra cried out as his burned soles scraped against the rough stone of the floor. The hazekiller dragged him from the room, ignoring his cries as he threw Ezra back into the cell.

As the door slammed shut and locked again, Ezra curled up on his side, pressing his hands over his face as he cried quietly.

_It won't be long,_ he told himself, though it did nothing to stop his tears. He just had to hold out until sunset, and then he could go home.

His father would know what to do. He always did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: child abuse; character death; victim blaming themselves for abuse

Every step Ezra took was agony. The burns on his feet made it nearly impossible to walk, but he couldn’t afford to let himself stop. He was so close. He could see the gate looming ahead of him, barely visible through the mists. He just had to get home and he could tell his father everything.

As he stumbled up to the gate, he instinctively reached for his metal reserves, only to remember that they were no longer there. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of one of the horizontal bars halfway up the gate and pulled himself up. Tears welled up in his eyes as his muscles strained. At long last, he managed to brace his knee against another bar and quickly drew his other leg up until both knees were resting on it. Shifting his weight, Ezra reached up, grabbing hold of a higher bar. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath as he pulled himself up again, shifting his feet onto the bar he’d been kneeling on.

He cried out as the metal dug into the wounds on the soles of his feet. It hurt like a knife blade digging deep under the skin, carving into the muscle, but he couldn’t afford to stop now. He was almost home. He stood up, reaching for the bar on the very top of the gate. He just had to pull himself over the top. The fall to the other side wouldn’t be that far.

His arms ached as he hauled himself up. In spite of all of his training, he was barely strong enough to do this without pewter.

By the time he pulled himself to the top of the gate, he was shaking from the effort. He closed his eyes again, summoning all his remaining strength before flinging himself over the top, only continuing to cling to the bar for a moment in an effort to slow his fall.

Ezra’s gasped as his back hit the ground, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He rolled over, settling onto his hands and knees for a moment as he caught his breath before pushing himself back to his feet.

He whimpered with every step as he limped toward the keep. He was nearly halfway there when he heard multiple sets of rapid footsteps approaching. He gasped and looked up to see three guards converging on him. He stumbled, falling back to the ground, terror closing around his throat, choking him. He didn’t know if any of these guards were ones who would recognize him. He hadn’t met all of them personally.

Ezra yelped as someone grabbed his arms, wrenching them back and pulling him up onto his knees.

“No,” he muttered, though he didn’t bother to struggle, simply going limp in the guard’s grip.

“Wait,” one of the other guards said, gripping Ezra’s chin and tilting his face up. Ezra whimpered again, bracing himself for a blow to the face.

“It’s Ezra,” the guard said after a moment, releasing his grip on Ezra’s face and letting his head drop down again. “Get him inside.”

The guard who was holding Ezra released his arms and lifted him up. As he was settled over the guard’s shoulder, no longer forced to keep moving under his own power, Ezra fought to hold onto consciousness. He lost that fight quickly as his eyes rolled up into his head and everything went dark.

* * *

The first thing Ezra knew was that he was warm. The second was that a light, comforting pressure was covering his whole body.

When he forced his eyes open, he realized that he was in his room, lying in his bed, a blanket wrapped tightly around him.

He was home.

He was finally _home_.

Ezra carefully disentangled himself from the blanket and sat up, his bandaged feet dangling over the edge of the bed, swinging just above the floor. He shuddered as he stared down at the bandages. Just looking at them, he could feel the heat of the iron rod hovering over his skin for those few painful, terrifying seconds before Thrawn had pressed it against his feet.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat as the phantom scent of burning flesh flooded his nose. He shook his head, as though he could clear the memories from his mind, only to freeze as the door opened.

His eyes snapped open, going wide as he saw his father standing in the doorway. The man had stopped in his tracks, looking surprised to see him awake.

After a moment, Ezra remembered how to move again, and his body did so automatically. He lurched out of his bed only to collapse to his knees as searing pain shot through his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling from his mouth as though they had a life of their own. “I’m sorry, Father, I – I failed you. I –”

“Calm down, Ezra.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_.”

Ezra’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as he hugged his arms around himself, shaking. He kept his head bowed, terrified to look at his father. Tears stung at his eyes as he tried to form words beyond “I’m sorry.” But he couldn’t. They were the only words that would come. They were the only words he could even coherently _think_.

Pain cut through the panicked whirlwind of thoughts racing through Ezra’s head and he gasped, his hand flying to his face as he registered the fact that his father had slapped him.

“Calm _down_ ,” his father said again as Ezra shrank back, ducking his head as though he could shield himself from another blow.

Ezra held his breath, trying to force himself to stop panicking, knowing that continuing to do so would only make his father angry.

Slowly, he looked up, only to freeze once more as he saw his father drawing a small glass vial from his pocket. His eyes locked onto it and the liquid inside it, his mind flashing to the nearly identical vial that had been in Thrawn’s hand.

_Restrain him._

Ezra whimpered, flinching back against the bed as he felt the echoes of the hazekillers’ hands on his arms and Thrawn’s painful grip on his chin as he forced the contents of the vial down Ezra’s throat.

“Ezra,” his father said sternly.

Ezra reached out with one shaking hand and took the vial, quickly swallowing the liquid and metal flakes inside. He reached inside, feeling for the metal as it settled into his stomach, a quiet rush of relief settling over him as he realized he’d been given pewter. As he began to burn it, the dull aches throughout his body began to fade. Though he was more confident in his ability to move under his own power now, he let his father take hold of his arm and help him up until he was sitting on the bed again.

“I need you to tell me exactly what happened,” his father said.

Ezra didn’t look at him, his gaze remaining fixed on his hands as he spoke.

“I failed,” he said, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t kill him. I – I was caught and they…”

His voice trailed off and he swallowed nervously. He didn’t know how his father would react to knowing what would happen. His moods were somewhat predictable, most of the time, but Ezra had never let him down this badly.

“Thrawn made me swallow some kind of metal,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as he forced the words out as emotionlessly as he could, just wanting to get all of it out at once. “He didn’t tell me what it was, but when he made me burn it, all my metal reserves just disappeared. And he –”

Ezra’s voice broke off once more. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to recount the details of the beatings and how Thrawn had burned him.

“He made me talk,” Ezra said, his voice breaking. “I – I told him I worked for you and he figured out who I was. He wanted me to spy for him. I didn’t want to, but he was – he was going to kill me if I said no.”

As Ezra stopped talking, he realized that he was beginning to hyperventilate again. Though his father hadn’t moved, Ezra flinched anyway, his shoulders jumping up toward his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I tried. I –”

He gasped as his father grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up into his eyes. Ezra’s throat felt like it was closing up as sheer terror shot through him, driving everything else from his mind. He tried to pull away, only for his father to tighten his grip, his fingers digging into the skin around the burn on Ezra’s face, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Do you understand what you might have just cost us?” his father growled, fury burning in his voice.

“Y—yes,” Ezra said. “I – I’m sorry! I –”

“Save your apologies,” his father snapped as he released Ezra. “Who else was there when you told Thrawn who you are?”

“A – a hazekiller,” Ezra said. “I didn’t hear his name.”

Ezra stiffened as his father took a step back and began pacing around the room. Nothing good ever happened when his father started pacing.

“We don’t have time to wait for your injuries to heal,” he said. “I will have to deal with Thrawn myself.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Ezra again. Ezra shrank back, ducking his head again to avoid his father’s furious gaze.

“And I will deal with _you_ later,” he said.

As his father turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, Ezra hugged his arms around himself, his chin dropping toward his chest as tears began trailing down his cheeks. The thought of what his father might do to him when he returned was so terrifying he could barely breathe.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

Maul flared tin, honing in on the window. If the maps he’d memorized were correct, it was the window to Thrawn’s private quarters. He would deal with Thrawn first, then anyone else who might have seen Ezra or heard his name.

He rested a hand on one of his glass daggers, making sure it was within easy reach. It had been years since he had taken care of matters like this himself. Since becoming an obligator, his tattoos made him too recognizable. That was the whole point of Ezra’s existence; to do what Maul’s position no longer allowed him to. But the boy had failed so spectacularly that Maul was left with no other choice.

Dropping a coin onto the rooftop he crouched on, Maul leapt into the night air. He Pushed off of the coin, sending himself flying toward the window. He caught the window ledge and let himself hang there for a moment, flaring tin again, listening for any sounds of life in the room. Satisfied that it was empty, he pulled himself through the window.

As he made his way across the room toward the door, he could hear footsteps in the corridor outside. He stood to the side of the door, where he wouldn’t be seen, and waited.

Within moments, the door swung open and his target entered the room. Maul lunged forward, throwing his arm around Thrawn’s neck and pushing the door closed. He flared pewter, using his enhanced strength to crush Thrawn’s throat, stopping the man from making a sound as he struggled, trying to pry Maul’s arm away.

Maul drew his glass dagger with his free hand, gripping it tightly as he brought it to Thrawn’s chest. He held it there for a moment as he spoke.

“No one threatens my son,” he said, his voice a low growl as he tightened his grip on Thrawn’s neck.

Thrawn made a strangled noise that sounded like an attempt at speech. Maul ignored it, tightening his hand around the dagger and plunging it into Thrawn’s chest.

He pulled the dagger from between Thrawn’s ribs, releasing his hold on the man. As Thrawn fell, Maul slashed the blade across his throat.

Maul stood there for a moment, watching as Thrawn bled out at his feet, unable to cry out for help. Once he was satisfied that the other man was finally dead, Maul turned away and opened the door again.

His work here wasn’t finished yet.

* * *

Ezra lay curled up on his side, staring blankly at the wall beside his bed. Hours had passed since his father had left. Glancing out the window, he could see that the sky was beginning to lighten, a sign of dawn approaching. He wished his father had given him tin along with pewter so he could listen for his return. At least that way he would have some warning.

He knew his father was going to punish him for his failure. He always did. But he didn’t know how painful it would be this time. He hadn’t failed in an assassination in years, and the last time, he knew his father had gone easy on him because of his young age and inexperience. Now, he was old enough that this shouldn’t have happened. He knew how to keep himself from getting caught, but it had happened anyway. His father was right to punish him for it.

When he finally heard footsteps approaching, his breath caught in his throat. He knew it was his father. He recognized the pattern with which he walked, different from most because of the injuries he’d suffered years before Ezra was even born.

Ezra knew he should at least sit up, but he couldn’t get himself to move. It was like his fear was pressing down on him, holding him in place. He couldn’t move. He could barely even breathe.

When the door opened, Ezra’s shoulders stiffened. He could feel his father’s eyes on him. Even without brass or zinc, he could sense his father’s anger and disappointment, and the same thrill that he himself got after a mission.

“Get up,” his father snapped.

Ezra began to push himself up, wincing as his bones and muscles ached. The small amount of pewter he’d been given earlier wasn’t enough to hold off the pain for long. Apparently growing impatient, his father reached out, grabbing Ezra’s arm and pulling him from the bed, throwing him to the floor.

As Ezra caught himself on his hands and knees, he looked up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw his father standing over him. There was still blood on his hands and his clothes. Judging by the amount, Thrawn wasn’t the only one who’d died tonight.

“It’s time for you to face the consequences of your failure,” his father growled.

Ezra hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he fought off that dull, burning ache behind them. He wouldn’t cry. He would take his punishment without resistance. And he would never let himself fail his father again.


End file.
